Ista Weyr - Hatching Galleries
A tiered series of bleachers, their surfaces worn smooth from centuries' worth of use, with stairways on either side for access. There is a broad railing carved from stone to prevent onlookers from falling down. During a Hatching, thick and comfortable pillows in the Weyr's colors of black and orange are brought out to cushion the hard seating, and drudges come and go to bring refreshments to the spectators. A walkway at the top and back of the gallery continues through a tunnel to the west. A brilliant, vividly colored mural is painted across the walls.
The sevendays have stretched into each other, and the small clutch of eggs that sit upon the Istan Sands are growing harder and harder, the once-leathery shells turning rock hard under the watchful eye of the golden Eulweth. Even now, a small group of young residents - each wearing the simple white knot of a candidate - are on the Sands, getting to know the eggs and secretly each hoping they might be one of the lucky 5. Angharad, meanwhile, is in the galleries - where she has spent the majority of those long sevendays - currently fussing at a healer apprentice who is hovering a bit too much. "I -am- drinking enough water. No, the heat isn't too much." She gets almost frustrated, waving a hand at the poor teenage girl, before she's finally retreating away, leaving Ani on her own, the young gold rider returning to the letter she was reading.
Cenlia wouldn't usually be caught dead anywhere near the galleries, those sevendays when her own gold practically kept her prisoner there every second having given the young weyrwoman a healthy respect for cold drinks and anyplace that /wasn't/ near the hatching sands. Yet here she is, without her lifemate even! Though the cranky look on her face is saying as much as the paranoid glances she's casting over her shoulder; someone.. is trying to escape. Which might be why she's skulking up the tiers of stone seats, a little hunched over, though not quite ducking. Oh, and she has a bag slung over her shoulder. A bag which /sloshes/. "Shards, stop pestering the girl!" she does mutter at the apprentice healer as she spots her fellow goldie and angles that way, bobbing her head to Angharad with a mildly less cranky, "Hey, figured ya could use a drink, bein' stuck in here. Ain't even all booze, if yer with them Temperance League lot," her nose wrinkling up at that last bit.
There's generally a certain peace in the galleries at least, and with Eulweth being a rather… unusually lenient clutch mother, Ani's own presence there isn't necessarily against her choice. As the Senior is chasing off the Apprentice healer, the girl finally relents, scurrying the rest of the way down the stairs and out of the galleries, muttering something about difficult gold riders. "Thank you, Cen.." Ani murmurs softly, the letter folded and tucked away under her leg, even as she scoots over a bit in invitation. "I could use a strong drink, but that would have the Healers -and- Evvy on me, I think." A soft sigh, a wrinkle of her nose, and a hand goes to her abdomen for a moment, before she's quickly dropping it away. "Not even halfway there, either. By then I will -really- need that drink." And she smiles a little at that admittance. "I won't even get to celebrate at the hatching, either!"
If Cen hears the apprentice's mutterings, she at least doesn't go after the girl with a shovel, too busy rummaging in that bag of hers. Not that Cenlia brought her infamous shovel with her, which in itself might be strange. But then, she looks like she left wherever it was in a hurry, boots half-laced being nudged off at the heel with the opposite foot to reveal a lack of socks, and beach sand still clinging to tanned ankles, though the rest of her garb is drab and beige, loose shirt and pants in thin material, more fitting a drudge than a weyrwoman. A brow is quirked at Ani's reasoning there, and then eyebrows sneak up farther for the hand on the other's abdomen, "Shards, you /too/?" It's almost dismay in her voice, "Ain't there /anybody/ in this weyr without brats?" Groaning somewhat, she pulls out not the bottle of rum, but one of peach juice, holding it out with a sigh, "Will save ya a whole /keg/ full. Shards," at least that's sympathetic, "I wouldn't've /survived/ without booze when Zeek was stuck in here. Made sure I was too."
Eyes flick over Cen as she settles in, lingering at her feet with a crooked little smirk. "Who was it that had you take off in such a rush? Wasn't that one bronze rider was it? The one who thinks he's Faranth's gift to gold riders?" She asks, before she's wincing at the dismay in Cenlia's voice, clearing her throat a little. "Well, Evvy had been asking, and Aeva's getting older… And well, I mean, I suppose they'll be able to entertain each other…" And as her explanation draws out, it seems sort of evident that she's more of a pushover. "Thank you.." She murmurs, the peach juice taken and sipped at gratefully, even as Eulweth is turning to peer at one teenage boy who has decided to stare up at her, rather than touch the eggs.
"Nah, was m' shardin 'dragon. /Somehow/ got it in her head I oughtta 'face m' fears' or some junk," Cenlia making a face there, "Sharding /dragon/." Hunching down, she pulls out the rum bottle for herself and uncorks it, taking a good, long swig, before canting her head at Angharad, "If it was a bronzer, would've given 'im a good kick where Rukbat dun't shine. You run into a real pesky one?" again an eyebrow quirks, in curiosity this time. The explanation of kidlets, though, earns a bit of a snort, and then a resigned sigh, of all things, "Shards, no wonder Zeek's been up in m' head 'bout that stuff. Everybody /else/'s got 'em." Eye-rolling happens briefly, though her attention is drawn sandswards, idly watching the eggs and candidates.
"What was she trying to make you do?" Ani asks after a moment, eyes widening as the bottle of peach juice hovers half way to her lips, suddenly intrigued by the interference by the other golrider's life mate. "I'm glad Eulweth well…" And then she coughs. "Actually, she's just as bad, I think she's just more subtle about it." A shake of her head, and then Ani wrinkles her nose. "One of the younger ones. Eulweth's not even off the Sands, and I already caught him bragging about how *next* time he'll be the one with me, and I won't be wanting a blue rider anymore." A roll of her eyes, and she just sighs softly.
The question draw's Cen's attention back from watching the eggs and candidates, a grimace crossing her face. She sinks down low in her seat, the heels of both feet planting on the edge as she brings her knees up, as if trying to hide behind them. "Got it in her head, since I dun like littles, oughtta get one've m' own, to get over it or somesuch." The face she makes to the idea of /that/ speaks volumes, really. "Shardin' /dragon/," is muttered before an even longer swig of rum, and then a tacked-on, "Bad 'nough she's at it with them chickens." Although the weyrwoman does offer Angharad a crooked grin, nodding some, "Zeek's 'bout as subtle as a foot up the ass, usually gets her way too. But ain't shardin' /scared/ of 'em, just dun't /want/ 'em," presumably she means the kids. Eyebrows rise yet again, though, at the description of the cocky bronzerider, "Shards, woulda busted his face right proper if he said that 'bout me," pausing to consider for a second and then offering the other goldrider a crooked grin, "He keeps it up, though, an' I'd be happy to arrange some close personal time with haulin' the weyrling dung out to orchard every sevenday once the eggs hatch. Might make 'im think twice 'bout wantin' a clutch." Not that that's an actual clutchsire duty, but possibly if Cen had her way, it /could/ be.
Cen's explanation sends her into giggles, shaking her head hurriedly. "That's… I think that's the silliest thing I've ever heard." Ani continues to giggle, and then she's coughing a little, and waving a hand. "If it wasn't for Evvy, I'd swear that the best type of little is one you can give back. Though Aeva is certainly a sweet enough girl." The gold rider does admit after a moment of consideration. "There's more than enough, if you ask me." Even though she's contributing to the problem. The bronze rider comment, however, has her snorting. "I would love to see that. He certainly deserves it. Would love to see him fall in it, too, maybe take him down a few rungs."
The giggling only has Cen making more of a face and sinking down lower, "Ain't funny," coming out more a groan than anything else. "Best type is the kind I dun't /ever/ gotta deal with," is said adamantly, followed up by yet another swig of rum. At this rate, she'll be going through the bottle before dinnertime. "Definitely more'n 'nough," Cenlia nods, turning to eye the eggs, "Only thing brats're good fer is like that lot, bein' useful. Gettin' into craft or somethin' like that, an' by that time, they ain't littles no more." A pause, the goldrider thinking a moment, "Like that one guy, P'rel? Adopted him," grin widening, "Dun't /need/ littles. He ain't got no need of his da, an' only son /I/ care t' have is one that ain't still sniveling." Nevermind that said bronzerider is barely ten turns her junior, if that. Surely, she must be joking about the whole adoption thing. "He's a half decent bronzer anyhow," Cenlia adds, head tilting in thought, "What's the name've the smartass who thinks he'll bed ya next? Bet D'len'll be glad fer an extra hand come hatching time. An' where clutches're concerned," her grin becoming very toothy, "Sig ain't got /no/ say." Unlike the man's assignment of the wingleaders, which Cen probably had a thing ot two to say /about/, but probably didn't amount to much that was useful.
Hurriedly, Ani is backtracking as Cen is sinking lower and making a face. "I didn't mean its funny that you don't want kids, just that she thinks you should have one." And the younger gold rider is trying to avoid any misunderstandings with her senior. "I suppose that works.." She laughs a little, shaking her head, and then at the mention of the bronze rider, she's wrinkling her nose. "Shards. I'm not even sure. Dark brown, curly hair… bit taller than me. Maybe seventeen at the most."
"That ain't funny neither," Cenlia grumbles, though her ire seems directed more at some point overhead and a little to the left, rather than at her fellow goldrider. "Shardin' insane /dragon/. Couldn't have somethin' /normal/, like wantin' to chase all the herdbeasts or an ego the size've Rukbat." A pause, before Cen is muttering somewhat under her breath, "Ain't sure she dun got one almost big as Kinseth's, but 'least she ain't," waving a hand vaguely in the air, though whatever her meaning trails off as she tilts the bottle back to take another swig of rum. "Will keep an eye out fer 'em," she does note, about the bronzerider at his description, "Suppose somebody like that'd be easy to spot. Ain't a proper bronzer without an ego though." She pauses here, as if considering, tacking on idly, "But seems is the dragons that're full've it, not the riders. 'Least, mosta the bronzers I gotta deal with." Possibly the other sort have learned to steer well clear of her.
"Could be worse. I spent the first two turns trying to explain to Eulweth why she couldn't flame like her clutch siblings. Found her eyes deep in a bag of firestone, once, during training. I couldn't sleep for months, til she finally rose, and clutched, and they all hatched okay. Says she's just as good as any of those bronzes." And egg watching is borderline beneath her - something that can be noticed by lack of attention she's paying to the candidates who still linger on the Sands below. A flick of her fingers, and Ani rolls her eyes. "They're worse, once they've caught gold too, I'm certain. Not that the other riders who have snagged one of us are any better." Cough-Evvy-Cough.
Cen actually cracks a grin at that, momentarily forgetting her booze-tinged grumblings about her dragon to turn and glance at Angharad, "Sounds like a right pain, that. She ever try eatin' the stuff? Was almost tempted, last time I was stuck with Zeek an them eggs, to shove a bag of firestone down her throat, t' keep me outta this place, fer good," indicating the hatching grounds, "But Zeek'd never go fer it. She weren't ever worried 'bout flamin', since I told her we was gettin' a flamethrower. Shards, but ya should hear her go on 'bout how /she's/ the weyrleader, calls /S'gam/ the weyrwoman." That smirk is unmistakable, if brief. "'Course.. Zeek dun't ever let me get away with sayin' him or his bronze's name wrong, neither. Go figure." She shrugs, her tone genuinely puzzled, although she's then shaking her head, "/Definitely/ worse after they caught gold. Only one that weren't was O'zi - most laid-back bronzer I ever met. But he's from Igen - from them wanderin' folk. Odd sorts, but ain't bad. Think his sister impressed here too." As for other riders, Cenlia chuckles, nodding agreement there.
"Half of it was down her gullet before I had any clue what was going on. One of the bronze's tattled on her… I thought the Weyrlingmaster was going to flay me for it." Ani blushes a little, shaking her head. "She… She's never been an easy one, really, aside from with the Sands. I suppose I should be thankful I don't need to worry about her eating any of the candidates if they act up." Angharad leans back a little, shifting to get comfortable as she reaches for her peach tea. "The first bronze rider who caught Eulweth wasn't bad.. L'nel. Fat boy, not sure he knew *what* to do with me, to be honest."
"Shards," Cen's eyes widen slightly, "She get sick from it or anything?" her eyes drawn to the clutch on the sands, although she doesn't make any comment about the eggs down there. As for eating candidates, that does have Cenlia's expression turning a tad sheepish, her non-booze-holding hand brought up to rub at the back of her neck. "Zeek.. ain't so easy on them lot. Think a coupla candidates peed their pants last time she was on the sands an' growled at 'em," although she pauses, adding wryly, "'Least last time they could /see/ the eggs. First time Zeek clutched, her and Raonardoth buried the lot of 'em in mounds, wouldn't let /nobody/ uncover 'em, not even me an' O'zi. Whole clutch hatched fine, though, so guess them two know what they was doin'." Still, there's a slight snicker about L'nel, "Poor guy. Shards, some of 'em, too shardin' /young/. Think I got luck with O'zi, was a friend from candidacy. An' when Sig's dragon caught the last time.. I grabbed X'hil an' ran fer it." Ahemcough.
"Threw up this horrible sludge for what seemed like days… Just got a bellyache. And, well, her first clutch was 17, so it didn't seem to hurt her any." Even as Ani's own eyes follow Cen's to the meager clutch of 5 that sits below, biting her lip. "I'm.. hoping this is just a fluke. I mean, its her first flight since she was injured.." And Ani is making excuses for an accusation that was never voiced, attempting to defend herself and her dragon. A blush and then there's the comment about dragging others off. "Well, I had no complaints about the bronze rider this time.. J'yn definitely made it worth my while. But, I'll never admit that to E'von.." Clearing her throat a little, she hurriedly is taking a sip of juice, looking anywhere but at the senior.
Cenlia barely suppresses a grimace, uttering a half-sympathetic, "Ugh, sounds awful," and making a slight face. Eyebrows do shoot up at the number 17, but she's then clearing her throat and waving off any defensiveness with a wry, "Was almost four turns before Zeek went up, and near three an' a half after that," offering Angharad a lopsided grin, "Takes her sweet shardin' time, she does. Figure golds'll do what they want, when they want, ain't nothin' on Pern's gonna say otherwise. Kinda glad she ain't goin' up more often - hate bein' stuck in here, watchin' her eyein' every grain of sand like it's up to somethin'." The goldrider sighs, head canting back so she can briefly swallow some more of that rum. "Anyhow, bet yours'll have twice that next time," managing to sound entirely confident, the weyrwoman possibly not quite as tactless as she acts most of the time. "J'yn, huh?" she continues, head tilting to the side, snerking at the other rider's comment there, "Dunno if I'll ever get used to wakin' up next to somebody who ain't X'hil," and possibly her holdbredness is showing. She might have said more, but there's some abrupt eye-glazing as she gets that faraway look, and a loudly groaned, "Shardin' go back t' sleep - I said I wasn't-," muttergrumbled as she suddenly shoves herself to her feet and carries on some one-sided argument under her breath, managing to toss a vague farewell over her shoulder with an unexplained, "Now /he's/ at it too. Arsefardling.." and off she goes, taking the rum bottle with her.
